Dog Days
by TheAlphaWrites
Summary: Stiles and Laura were friends growing up. Now she's dead, killed by her Uncle, and he is a werewolf. And then there's Derek, who really shouldn't be as distracting as he is. Because Stiles needs to focus, he has a plan. Derek/Stiles. Alpha!Stiles fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

_**Beta'd by WithinTheHeart :)**_

* * *

**Chapter One**

Laura had been Genim's first friend.

He'd been six when they first met, and ridiculously, _painfully_, shy despite his ADHD which made it impossible for him to keep still for more than a few minutes at a time. He couldn't keep still or focus to save his life, and he would just freeze up like a startled deer, his eyes wide with panic and embarrassment bringing a pink flush to his cheeks, when attention was shifted to him.

So when he found himself suddenly standing alone in the middle of the supermarket, his mama nowhere in sight, Genim planted himself on the floor and tried not to burst into tears like he actually really wanted to.

"You okay there?"

His head jerked upwards from his lap at the unexpected voice and he roughly wiped at the tears that were making his eyes water, blinking both curiously and warily at the stranger in front of him.

Laura had been thirteen at the time and, although she was only halfway through puberty – an awful gangly stage, Genim later discovered – he remembered thinking she was amazingly pretty. Long, wavy brown hair was tucked under a woollen hat and her green eyes peered at him concerned. Her face was soft and trusting. She didn't reach out and touch him, although he could tell she wanted to. It was a maternal instinct, he decided later on when he saw her interacting with her baby sister, Casey, the first time he'd gone to the Hale house.

He sniffed loudly, and didn't answer, instead continuing to watch her closely.

"Are you lost?" she tried again.

Hesitantly, Genim nodded. "I was here with my mama, but I don't know where she's gone…"

"Well, um, do you want me to help you find her?" she offered with what seemed to be a comforting smile, "I'm a good tracker."

"…You mean, like a spy?"

She laughed as if that was the funniest thing in the world, and he tilted his head, perplexed. "Yeah, like a spy," she humoured, "I have all the gadgets."

She held out her hand and, after a moment, he placed his own in hers. He smiled shyly up at her and his free hand tugged nervously on the end of his batman shirt.

"I'm Laura Hale, what's your name?"

"Genim Stilinski, with a silent 'g'," he responded with a rehearsed reply.

"Hmm…I think I'll call you Gem," Laura mused, "Is that okay?"

Genim nodded quickly and couldn't keep the slight skip from his step. After all, he knew well enough from books that his daddy read to him and the television shows that he watched with his mama after school, that only friends and family gave you nicknames. And at that point, it never occurred to him that he had only just met Laura, or that she was so much older than him. All he cared about was he had a friend; something he proclaimed loudly and happily when Laura, true to her word, led him easily back to his slightly hysterical mother.

Laura had smiled bashfully and waved off the woman's thanks, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. And, when Genim had asked Laura whether she'd be able to play with him again, she had looked surprised yet pleased by the approval, and his mama had smiled thoughtfully and stated that "something could be arranged".

Three days later, Laura Hale was officially his babysitter.

* * *

Genim met Scott when he was eight.

He and his mum had moved to Beacon Hills from Chicago when his parents got divorced, and much to Genim's delight, the boy was just as social awkward as he was. The new boy stood in front of the class, hands clutching at the straps of his Spiderman backpack, looking lost and nervous about the day ahead, Genim had immediately known they would be friends.

He'd given Scott an encouraging smile over the head of Greenberg, and when they had to get into small groups, he had helped Scott with the answers when he looked stressed, but it wasn't until they had both fallen asleep in maths class and were forced into detention by a disgruntled Mr Ryman, that their friendship was cemented.

Genim told Laura all about Scott that night when she came over.

"-Oh, and did I tell you he likes comic books as well? Of course, he likes Superman more than Batman, but I can sort that out in time," he assured quickly, bouncing in place excitedly.

Laura laughed and gently swotted his shoulder. "Keep still," she chided, "I'm almost done."

Genim pouted heavily and grumbled under his breath, arms folded across his chest in a silent show of defiance. To his credit, he did manage to keep still until Laura patted him on the top of his head, and cheerfully announced, "You can go look in the mirror now."

He scrambled to his feet and approached the mirror. He scowled darkly. "Pigtails? Really?"

"You're lucky I left the ribbons at home," Laura shot back, amused, "Besides, they suit you."

"I look like a girl," Genim objected.

"Yup, but a very pretty girl," she stated, as if that would somehow console him. He tugged at the end of the plaits and yelped in surprise when Laura cuffed him again, piercing him with a sharp look.

"Don't touch," she ordered firmly, "Or I'm putting The Pictures on posters across the town."

Genim gaped. "You wouldn't dare…"

Laura smirked. "Just try me kiddo."

Later that night, when they were curled up on the sofa and watching a marathon of Scooby Doo cartoons that his dad had brought him on video for his birthday last month; Laura brushed strands of long hair from his forehead and pressed a motherly kiss to the revealed skin.

Genim inclined his head upward, eyebrows furrowed in silent question, and she smiled warmly, hugging him just that little bit closer to him. "I'm glad you met Scott, Gem," she whispered softly into the silence.

He beamed widely.

* * *

_So Laura is a werewolf, yep, that…that totally makes sense…_

Genim knew he shouldn't have gone into the woods that night, on full moon of all times. It was just common sense, not to mention both his dad and Laura had warned him against it, but of course, he had thought he knew better than them all. Besides, he liked the woods. His mama liked the woods. It was just this wide space that screamed freedom that was far away from the noises of the town and gave you a chance to think. The woods on the outskirts of Beacon Hills had always been the one place where he could finally breathe, and the trees had never betrayed him before.

Until then, at least.

They had cornered him, running a perimeter around him by rustling leaves and snapping twigs beneath their feet, all of which allowed the panic to well up inside of him and take over to lead him blindly through the trees.

And then, suddenly, they were in front of him, like they had just stepped out of the trunks of the trees that were now on either side of their formation. There were six of them, six silhouettes; one crouched low to the ground – the youngest, he later found out, who had a harder time controlling the wolf, especially on full moon – while the others were standing up straight, holding themselves in a threatening manner, designed to make them appear larger to an enemy. And right now, that enemy was him.

Genim's heart pounded loudly against his rib cage, the sound of blood pulsing loudly in his ears numbing his senses and made it hard to breathe properly. One, he wasn't sure which, growled and he stood a stuttered step backwards out of pure reflex.

Then one of the youngest, Logan, Laura's youngest brother, stepped into the light, the sound of his hands and feet against the crunchy autumn leaves practically nonexistent. The moonlight broke through the trees and highlighted his facial features, morphed into something not quite animal, not quite man. Light brown hair fell in tangled and stretched into a pair of matching sideburns that took up most of his cheek and jaw. His eyes flashed yellow, and his fangs poked through curled lips when he sniffed the air.

There was a low noise behind him, a warning, one of the adults, he guessed later, from behind the crouched boy, and Logan let out a frustrated whine. In fact, for a moment, it looked as if he wanted nothing more than to jump at Genim and rip his throat out. That thought made him swallow and hunch his shoulders protectively, as if that would be able to stop an attack should it arise.

Logan bent to the ground again, his head hovering just inches about the ground, and Genim recognised the movement as an offensive possession that his Grandma's Labrador used to make before he tackled an unsuspecting visitor to the ground. Something told him that it wasn't a tongue bath that this, _this, whatever it was_, wanted to give him.

"You shouldn't be in the woods, not at this at this time of night," a voice, gravelled, told him, "Don't you know it's the full moon?"

"Uh, um, y-yes, I know," Genim stammered out an answer, "I just, um-"

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" the voice inquired again.

He flushed in embarrassment. "Uh, um, y-yes, I just – well, I needed some time to think and-"he paused for a moment as the reality of the situation hit him. It was the woods. It was public land, you couldn't own it – he remembered his father complaining about it because of all the calls he gets from stupid teenagers who have gotten lost within the maze or something equally as ignorant. So, technically, he had every right to be here. He straightened his back, narrowed his gaze and tried to give off a dangerous persona; although he's sure he failed. "And what does it matter to you? This is public land; I can be here if I want. And besides, you were the ones that were stalking me! I mean, how creepy is that? My dad's the new Sheriff and I could get you all _arrested_. What the heck dude? And really, don't even get me started on your choice of clothes – you do realise that Halloween isn't until next weekend right? And another thing-"

There was a laugh. "You know what, I like this kid," he admitted, with a toothy grin that Genim could see from where he was standing.

"Are you sure I can't just rip his throat out?" Another voice, probably a few years older than him, whined (although he's sure that Derek could deny that if he ever mentioned it), "At least then he might stop talking."

"Derek," another, more authoritive, voice scolded.

"Uh, clearly this is a family dispute, so I'm just going to-"Genim took a step backwards. Logan growled warning and he seized up, "Okay then, I'm not leaving. That's fine. I, uh, I could play mediator? But you need to get me home by at least midnight, because, you know, I am a growing boy and I need at least seven hours sleep before I have to get up for school tomorrow."

The crouched boy took another step closer, baring his teeth menacingly, and Genim couldn't stop the babble that escaped his mouth, "Or I could stay for as long as you want me to, because you know, I don't want to anger the crazy kid that acting like a wolf – god, this isn't some kind of cult thing that I've wandered into right? I mean, you guys aren't going to kill me and bury my body in the woods where no one would ever find it – _oh, god, you are, aren't you?_ You're going to kill me, that's not cool man, really, and ark!"

Logan had lunged at him, claws poised for attack, saliva dripping from his elongated canines, and his eyes glowed eerily in the darkness. Instinctively, Genim reared back and tried to run away, but his legs didn't cooperate and he found himself on his backside, scrambling backwards along the leaves. His back hit painfully against the trunk of an oak tree and, after a moment of confusion as to way he wasn't moving anywhere, he closed his eyes and tensed in anticipation for the collision…

…_which never came?_

Cautiously, he cracked one eye open and saw Logan on his back, held in place beneath another figure, more feminine this time, who snapped her jaw warningly at his neck. The boy whined his submission and bared his neck. She held him there for a moment, as if needing to be sure he got the message, before releasing her hold and watching him scurry back towards the rest of the strange group of people. Then she tilted her head towards him, just slightly, enough that she could see him but he couldn't see her clearly – it was enough though. He'd spent so much time which her, how could he _not_ recognise her?

"…_Laura?_" he breathed out questioningly.

She flinched at the sound of her name and turned to face him properly. He watched in – he didn't know what, _amazement, awe, fear, all of them combined_ – as her face slowly melted from the distorted animal impression to her normal, softer face that now stared down at him sadly. She stuffed her hands deep into her coat pockets.

"Hey Gem," she whispered her greeting uncomfortably.

And Genim responded in the way that most people did when they found their babysitter/best friend/oldest friend was a _werewolf_: he fainted.

When he came around again, he was in his room, tucked under the blankets in his bed, and Laura was perched on his desk chair, her hands locked in her lap. He blinked at her for a moment.

"You're a werewolf," he blurted out.

She nodded. "Yes."

"How can you be so relaxed about this?" Genim yelped, sitting up and his hands waved frantically in front of him, "_You're a werewolf!_"

"Yes, Gem, I know that," Laura quirked a smile at him, "I was born like this."

"And your family?"

"Mostly wolves, some humans – it's like the dominant gene that decides whether you will have brown hair or green eyes. My family line has one that determines whether you're a werewolf or not," she tried to explain as simply as she could.

"…So those guys in the woods?"

"My family, well, some of them. My dad, James, and my uncles, Peter and David; and Derek and Logan, my younger brothers, and me – it was Logan's first full moon so we were there to let him run, make sure he doesn't get into the town or hurt anybody – and then you showed up with your ramblings," she laughed slightly, "Even in the face of danger, you still can't keep your mouth shut."

"It's a nervous tick," he protested, watching the girl across from him closely. She was staring into her lap, looking lost in thought, and he bit his bottom lip as he debated what to do. After a few seconds deliberation, he reached out to touch her hand, grasping it tightly. "Sorry I didn't listen to you."

She exhaled heavily through her nose. "Good, you should be, you could have been killed Genim and I…I don't want to see you hurt, okay? So if I tell you not to go into the woods on full moon, _don't go into the woods on full moon_."

"Promise," he held up three fingers.

"My mum's going to want to speak to you," Laura finally told him, "She's our alpha. She kind of…protects us, takes care of us; keeps us in line. She's going to want to make sure you can keep this a secret."

"Who would believe me if I told them?" Genim questioned ludicrously.

"You'd be surprised," she replied wirily.

"Laura," he asked when she made to leave through the open window, her leg already hanging over the window pane, "If I hadn't been out in the woods tonight, if your little brother hadn't tried to eat me – something I will be getting compensation for, I can promise you that – would you…" he faltered for a moment, "…would you have told me the truth? About what you are?"

She looked thoughtful. "…I don't know, maybe," she finally admitted, "We're not really supposed to tell anyone. There are some bad people out there and we need to protect the pack."

"You can trust me," Genim stated honestly.

"I know I can, I do," Laura told him firmly, leaving no room for argument, "If you ever doubt me, never doubt that: _I trust you_."

* * *

His mama had been sick for awhile. Genim had memories as a child of his mother lying weak in her bed, smiling tiredly down at him, or standing at the medicine cabinet and taking her cocktail of drugs, but it was far and few between and he'd never really known anything different. He wasn't told about the cancer until it became too serious to ignore.

_She isn't recovering_; his dad said sadly, _the doctors don't know how long she's got left_.

At the time, he didn't think he really understood exactly what was making his mama grow weaker, lose her blond curls in large clumps; what had caused her to collapse on her way out of the library and forced an early admittance to the hospital. It was around that time that his research habit developed, he guessed. Desperately searching for a cure, someway to make her better, he supposed it became a default mechanism for when things go wrong.

Of course, Genim didn't spend his whole time researching. He didn't want to waste anytime with her. He'd even tried to get out of school – "I'm there for six hours a day, for five days, mama, I'd rather spend it with you" – but, of course, his mama had refused, reminding how important a real education was. She hadn't had the best one growing up, had learnt most of what she knew from the books she read, and she wanted him to be the best he could be.

So, he went to school and when he came home, he spent all the moments he could with her. He watched Gilmore Girls and Smallville on repeat with her, because it had always been their thing. He got his mama to teach him how to cook her best dishes, so that he could treat her weekly to treats of cakes and risotto and, her particular favourite, beef casserole. He took a razor to his hair as her own started to fall out, not wanting her to feel alone. She'd cried when she saw him and held onto him for the rest of the evening, pressing kisses against his hair line. When his dad got home from work, he paused in the doorway to survey them both and a watery smile crossed his face.

Later, after his mama had gone to bed, drowsy from her medicine, his dad had come into his room, run his hand over his buzz cut and whispered how much he loved him, appreciated everything you do, especially now – _and doing that for your mama, that's amazing son. Thank you…_

Genim didn't see Laura or the Hale family much during that time, but every time he saw one of them at school or on the street, they'd just smile and wave, inquire how his mama was doing and Amelia, Laura's mother, had told him that she was going to bring over some raspberry and white chocolate muffins – "Laura said that your mama likes them, right?"

And then, the night she died, peacefully in her sleep (_a small virtue_, he remembered thinking bitterly), they were there, surrounding him and his father, hugging them close, soaking in their tears and ultimately being the rock neither could be for each other.

The funeral was three days later. His dad had helped him with his tie, wrapping the yellow silk ("it was mama's favourite colour," he explained when questioned) around his hands, and offered him a strained smile. It had been difficult on his father, he knew, more so because his parents always been with each other – and now they weren't. That one look told it all – how much he hurt, how much he was suffering under the weight of it all, how much he didn't want to break down because he needed to be strong for his son, just how Eleanor would have wanted it.

"Are you ready to go Genim?" his dad questioned quietly.

"Don't call me that," he ordered sharply. He couldn't – it was her name for him, she called him that, and he couldn't hear it without his heart tightening and a sob swelling up in his throat.

The Sheriff looked surprised, blinking at the unexpected outburst, and looked uncertain of how to proceed. He watched as his son, his little boy who suddenly didn't look so little anymore, clench his hands into fists.

"I can't – she –"he stuttered through the words and trailed off into a heavy sigh, "Stiles. Call me Stiles."

Stiles, the Abominable Snowman – his favourite story character from his childhood. The Sheriff didn't question it.

The Hale family came to offer their condolences and join the rest of the town in the final goodbye of Eleanor Stilinski. He hadn't expected them to come – maybe Laura and Amelia, who had grown close with his mama over the last few years, but they were all there. Even Selena, heavily pregnant, was here, waddling over the grass with the help of her husband, David, and her brother, James, Laura's father.

Laura had rushed at him as soon as she saw him, dragging him into one of her bruising hugs that he held onto desperately. He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling her smell, like his mama's but different; and clutched at the lapels of her raincoat tightly. She muttered her sorrows into his hair, her hot breath warming the skin beneath and making him shiver, and when he told her about the name change, she'd let out a small laugh, tinged with her tears, and said, "Well, you'll always be Gem to me, _Stiles_."

Laura was the constant in his life; his secondary mother figure even if she was only a few years older than him, and only see could get away with calling him that.

Amelia had yanked him into a hug – Stiles knew where Laura had inherited those from – before proceeding to fuss about his father, a job he had told himself he would need to take up soon enough, just his mama had asked him to. Serena had pecked him on the cheek and James, Peter and David had squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, all with sad smiles on their faces; Logan muttered an awkward, "I'm sorry for your loss", as if he knew that wouldn't make anything better, and fist bumped him, something that had become a welcomed ritual whenever they saw each other; even baby Belle, Peter's baby girl, patted him on the cheeks with her little pudgy hand, making sympathic noises.

And Derek…well, he was the one that surprised Stiles the most. When they'd met properly, inside the Hale house at a family dinner with all the overhead lights turned to their brightest, he hadn't seemed particularly…hospitable. Laura had said he'd had a fight with his secret girlfriend, but Stiles was almost certain the man was just naturally a sour wolf. But now, it was as if he were a completely different person.

He nodded at him in greeting in a – _dare he say it_ – _shy_ fashion, and placed his hand on the crown of his head. There was a look of concentration of his face as he rubbed the pads of his fingers against his scalp, something that Stiles couldn't help but lean into. The hand left a tingling trace as it trailed along the curve of his face, around the shell of his ear and under his jaw before it was suddenly gone. He stood at a distance, his hands buried firmly in his pockets, and he kept his gaze averted.

At the time, he wasn't entirely sure what that had meant. All he knew is that some of the ache in his chest had lifted, if only enough that he felt he could breath easier.

Stiles didn't get the chance to question what had just happened. Serena had turned to him with a small smile and asked for his assistance down to the burial sight. He'd hesitated for a moment before giving her a tight smile and agreeing. He glanced behind him quickly as he followed the procession, just in time to see Logan sniggering behind his hand as James muttered something harsh and serious at a contrite looking Derek.

He broke down during the service. He'd tried to stay strong, to swallow the lump in his throat and keep the tears at bay – because they were private, his emotions, and he wasn't prepared for the whole town to see his pain so obviously – but then they'd played her favourite song – Save The Last Dance, the song that played when his parents had first met at a middle school dance, the song that his mama twirled around the kitchen to, hummed to herself as she cooked, sung to him when he was sick or scared – and it was as if a dam had burst inside his head,

It was the finality of it all that really hurt him; the knowledge that his mama was well and truly gone. He'd never see her smile again, would never hear her voice or feel her arms around him. She was gone, to a better place maybe, and he and his father were stuck here, on Earth, left to continue with live without her, as if they weren't dying inside. Their family was fractured, and Stiles didn't know what to do.

He wasn't even aware he was crying until his father's arms wrapped around him. Gruff, broken words of comfort were whispered in his ears; words that barely sunk into his wellbeing, that he couldn't believe; that he desperately wished he could.

Stiles let out a choked sob and tightened his grasp on his father's suit jacket.

* * *

And then the Hale fire happened.

Stiles had found out from school. In a town like Beacon Hills, news travelled fast, and, having been seen with different members of the Hale family, his classmates would approach him, ask him whether he had heard. He wanted to leave school early, had demanded and begged and pleaded with his dad before he finally took mercy on him and agreed to pick him up. It was unorthodox really, for the Sheriff to take his son to a crime scene, but no one really questioned it.

The smoke could be seen from miles and, when they finally arrived, the fire department were still trying desperately to put the last remains of the fire out. What was usually a tranquil place, surrounded by wilderness, was now overwhelmed with the presence of police cars and ambulances and fire engines; civilians who had heard and wanted to see the damage, something that made Stiles sick to his stomach; walkie-talkies and officers talking amongst one another, the flashing blue and red lights on top of the ambulances that cast an unnatural light on the shell of what had once been a beautiful and vibrant house.

Laura was sitting at the end of the one of the ambulances, clutching tightly at an orange shock blanket; Derek beside her, pointedly refusing the blanket, even though the paramedics insisted, to the point where Stiles was sure the man would wolf out.

Stiles called out to them and Laura looked up at him, so lost and broken that it made him want to cry. But he didn't. Instead, he held onto Laura when she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly, and offered her the comfort she desperately needed. It horrified him to see her like that – Laura Hale, usually so strong, was vulnerable and distraught in his arms. Her hot tears seared the crook of his neck and she shook violently.

"T-they're gone…a-all…every, everyone," she hiccupped out through her cries, "t-the fire, it…I can't…"

Stiles shushed her gently, rocking gently, letting her weep into his shirt. He met Derek's gaze over her head and stared forlorn. He looked so much younger now, helpless and lost, but determined to hold it all together. Vaguely, he wondered whether this is what he looked like at his mama's funeral. It was times like this when he wished his arms were longer – and that Derek didn't scare him as much as he did – so he could pull them both into an embrace and protect them both from what had happened to their family.

Later on, his dad told him what had happened. The Hale house had caught on fire, although the origins of the start of the blaze were unclear – the Sheriff himself suspected foul play but didn't have any evidence to prove it. Eleven members of the family had been in the house that day – James and Amelia with Logan, who had taken the day off because it was too close to full moon and he couldn't control his instincts, and six year old Lorena; David and Selena with 14 year old Damien, ten year old Charlotte and the new born Summer, only a few weeks old; Peter and Belle.

Nine bodies had been found in the basement, trapped and unable to escape when the fire consumed their home. Peter was found in the living room, the only survivor of the horrors, with severe third degree burns over 80% of his body and had been taken to Beacon Hills hospital in the hope of saving him – "he'd fallen into a coma, and the doctor's don't know whether he'll wake up," his dad told him. Belle was still unaccounted for, but the most likely outcomes were her charred remains were lost in the blackened house.

Laura and Derek had been given a room at the Sheriff's house, both Stilinski men refusing to let them stay anywhere else. The two ended up in Stiles' room, in his bed, their own makeshift pack pile under the covers as clung to each other for comfort and silently grieved for their loss. No one could sleep. Nightmares of fire and burning and screaming were just too much to bear, and, for the first time, Derek broke down and let the tears fall.

It was a week later when Laura announced that she and Derek were leaving Beacon Hills. Stiles remembered the fear that hit him at the thought of her leaving him – everybody leaving; his mama, the Hale family, now Laura, he couldn't – and the look must have shown on his face. She reached out to hold his hand in herself and squeezed it comfortingly, offering him a sad smile which he guessed was supposed to be encouraging.

"I don't want to leave," she admitted, "Really I don't-"

"Then why are you?" Stiles demanded an answer. Why are you leaving me?

"We have to Stiles, you don't…" Laura shook her head, "I'm not going to belittle you by letting you that you wouldn't understand, especially when I don't understand most of it myself. But I'm the alpha now, my mother's power was passed onto me, and I need to protect what's left of my pack. It's not…it's just not safe here for me or Derek in Beacon Hills anymore."

"How do you know? And if you are in danger, dad's the Sheriff, he can protect you and then you can both stay," he tried bargaining.

"I'm sorry, but this is really out of your father's jurisdiction…"

"So it has something to do with werewolves then…"

"I'm a new alpha, and that's going to draw attention from other people, terrible people; werewolf and human, and I…I can't lose anyone else, you understand that right?" Laura asked, almost pleading with him.

He nodded mutely and clung to her hand tighter.

"If I could take you with me, I would," she told him, "But I can't. You have your dad and I know you won't leave him."

"…When are you leaving?" Stiles inquired quietly.

"In two days time. There' still a lot to sort out after the…" she faltered around the word before continuing.

"Where will you go?"

"New York, maybe, there's a pack up there that my parents were friendly with, at least then we'd be safe," Laura explained, "But we'll keep in touch. Emails and phone calls and video chats, b-because you're important to me Gem and I don't want you to forget me."

"I could never forget you," he assured, shuffling closer so he could hug her around her waist, taking in and memorising her being into his subconscious.

Thursday morning, they packed up their very few belongings – there wasn't much that was salvable after the fire – in an old ford that Melissa McCall had offered them when she found out what they were planning, and left Beacon Hills and all its terrible memories behind.

Thursday morning, Stiles watched the car disappear down his street and fought against the tears that welled in his eyes, knowing now that he had lost his oldest friend, just as he had lost nearly everyone else.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

_**Beta'd by WithinHerHeart :)**_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Life without Laura was different.

Strange would be a better word, really. She had always been there for him, hovering over his shoulder and knocking sense into him when he was being idiot. Of course, she still did all those things, but it just wasn't the same over emails and on video chat.

They emailed a lot, practically every day, letting one know what the other was doing. Laura told him about the new pack that had accepted them into their folds, about how she decided to go to NYCU to get her degree in nursing, about her job in the burns unit that she got when she finished the four year course.

She told him about her favourite patients – this male war veteran who had been a part of the Chicago Fire Department and had been caught in a blaze, who told enjoyed telling her stories of his adventures; and this little girl who had been caught in a fire when she was only a few months old and had severe scaring and burns across her body, and whose greatest ambition was to be a princess (Stiles decided not to point out the oh-so-obvious connection) – and about how terrible New York traffic was, especially in comparison to the non-existent kind in Beacon Hills.

She told him about Derek – something Stiles would deny he was interested in, if he were questioned – about his degree in engineering, about his civil engineering job ("He's building a bridge, can you believe it?") and his chronic lack of romantic relationships.

Stiles liked the pretend that he wasn't just a little bit relieved about that.

In turn, he told Laura about school – about his lessons, specifically how much he hated Chemistry and how he actually enjoyed his European History lessons, and how he had decided to take up lacrosse and Latin for electives (he may have missed out that the reason for that was so he would have something in common with Lydia Martin, but that was beside the point).

He told her about his dad, how he had been elected as Sheriff for the third time in the row, how his workload had increased and, although he was happy for his dad, he missed him. He told her about how he had taken up visiting Peter in the hospital, whenever Laura or Derek couldn't be around to see him, and would talk to him about what his niece and nephew were doing, just in case he could hear him – he never mentioned Belle, not really wanting to admit out loud that no one knows where his fourteen month old daughter had disappeared to – although he never really had any good news to tell her.

He told her about Scott and Lydia and Jackson, who was still a douche bag but since his girlfriend had started actually noticing him, even if it was only as a sort of friend, seemed to constantly be around him, and Danny, who he may or may not have made out with at one of Lydia's parties.

And then, on the anniversary of the deaths in their families, Laura and Stiles would video message each other. They'd grieve, try and comfort each other, pick some crappy sci-fi movie and watch it from their respective homes, laughing and complaining to each other, just like they always would, although it really wasn't the same. The next day, Stiles would always visit the graves, bringing flowers and retelling what had happened in Beacon Hills, with himself, with Peter, with Laura and Derek. He didn't think anyone knew about those visits, except maybe Scott, who seemed to know what he was thinking before he'd finished thinking it nowadays. He didn't have to visit the gravesites, would have preferred not to be surrounded by so much death and silence, but he felt as if _someone_ should, and if it couldn't be his dad or the remaining Hales, then it would be him.

Laura and Derek rarely visited Beacon Hills after they left, maybe once or twice in the six year period. Stiles couldn't really blame them – they had important jobs that were difficult to get out of, and besides, for them, Beacon Hills could only be a reminder for what they had lost – although he still missed them. They'd spent a couple of nights at the Stilinski house, visit Peter and the graves during the days, before leaving again.

So when Laura showed up, out of the blue, one Tuesday when he was sixteen; well, he couldn't help worrying that something had happened.

* * *

"Laura?" he blinked, surprised.

She smiled nervously, brushing some long hair behind her ear. "Hey Stiles…" she greeted.

"What…what are you going here?" he questioned, "I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you because, you know, I am – six years is a long time to not see someone in person – why didn't you visit earlier? No, wait, don't answer that, it doesn't matter. Just…yeah, what are you doing here?" he finished lamely, very much aware of how much he had been talking.

But Laura just laughed. "Same old Stiles, I'm kind of glad," she commented fondly, "So do you mind if I come in? I promise to explain everything, just…not out here…"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course…" Stiles opened the door wider, taking a step back to let the older woman into the house.

They moved to the living room, dropping onto one of the old brown sofas, sitting on either end of the seat. Stiles arched an eyebrow questioningly, shifting in his seat. Laura pulled a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of her coat, carefully unfolding and smoothing out the sheet. She laid it out across the gap between them and Stiles lifted it to examine closely.

It was familiar – of course it was, nothing interesting happened in Beacon Hills and he remembered most of the cases that passed across his father's desk down at the station. His father had spoken with confusion about the strange occurrence of the dead doe, so close to the abandoned Hale house. It wasn't public knowledge, because no one could really identify the cause of it, despite the insistence it was just a regular cougar attack, the only predator in the area that was capable of taking down a deer.

But how many mountain lions were able to engrave a spiral into the stomach of their prey? How many would take that much time to kill and display, instead of eating, like other predators would? Both questions he asked his dad, who had told him that there was little evidence that anything else would have caused it – "and besides," he had said, "animal patrol isn't really a case for the Sheriff's department."

Now, as he started at the photocopy of the police document (he wasn't sure he wanted to know how she'd gotten a hold of it), Stiles wondered whether he should have invested a little more time in his research.

"Does it mean something, the spiral?" he asked curiously, handing back the paper.

"In the human world, no, not one of importance," Laura responded carefully.

"But it means something in your secret werewolf world?"

"Uncle Peter was a symbolist, a really good one at that, and he taught me a few things before the fire, specifically those with importance to us," she explained, biting her bottom lip, "This symbol, this spiral, it's a warning."

Stiles sat up straight, his eyes wide. "A warning? A warning for what?"

Laura let out a frustrated noise. "That's just it, I don't remember. Death, I think, or something equal as bad. I was hoping I could visit Uncle Peter; see if maybe he can tell me anything that could point me in the right direction."

"Laura, you do know that Peter isn't…" Stiles started slowly, voice tinged with worry.

"Responsive, I know," she interrupted, "But he can still hear me right? Maybe he can give me some sort of clue, or a sign, something to point me in the right direction…"

Unlikely, Stiles thought, but didn't want to destroy her optimism. So he smiled and nodded. "Maybe. I'll help anyway I can. You need a place to stay right?"

"Well, yes, but don't feel like you have-"

"I don't; trust me, I'm glad to have you here. And dad won't mind, I'll just text him and let him know that you're staying," he told her, already digging into his jean pockets for his phone.

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you Gem."

* * *

To: Daddy Bear

From: Stiles

'Laura's in Beacon Hills'

To: Stiles

From: Daddy Bear

'The clean linens are in the hallway cupboard – you'll need to put them on the bed. I'm bringing pizza and curly fries for dinner.'

To: Daddy Bear

From: Stiles

'Meat feast, Hawaiian, and vegetable. And regular fries. Think of your blood pressure'

To: Stiles

From: Daddy Bear

'I have a loaded weapon – I'll get whatever fries I want'

To: Daddy Bear

From: Stiles

'Curly fires today – steamed vegetables tomorrow. Your choice'

To: Stiles

From: Daddy Bear

'I should arrest you for extortion'

To: Daddy Bear

From: Stiles

'You'd miss me :)'

* * *

She visited.

A familiar ghost of the time before.

Before the smoke.

Before the fire.

Before the numb.

Long dark hair; blue eyes wide and imploring – she looks like her mother. They all did, at least to his memory.

What little memory he had.

When she spoke, words soft and needy, seeking an answer, **He **snapped to attention, reacting to the untapped power, but authority all the same. _Alpha_. He silently whined his submission.

She was asking about signs, markings; symbols. Old memories, lost memories, memories he wished he could hold onto. Spirals, swirls. Secret meanings. Revenge. Vendetta. Justice. Words he could not convey.

Vague memory, something recent maybe. An animal, food, prey – deer, stag, doe. A message, very important, essential even; bring them home, back to where it all began, back so he can fix everything.

Need to correct it; get better, right the wrongs – revenge; his revenge.

Brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, daughter – his family, gone – dead, lost, burned, ashes. No arrests, no charges – perpetrator never caught – the injustice of it all. Anger grows, festering, darkening – six years of mounting pain. Uncontrollable.

She's still talking, begging, but he can't answer. Muscles won't move; nerves frayed; locked in his own mind – six years of this. Need to escape, need to heal.

She sighed heavily, disappointed, pitying – he didn't need that. She held his hand, felt the fleeting touch that hadn't been there months before, showed healing, improving, and wished he could squeeze back. **He** whimpered at the touch – touch of pack, family – not alone; too alone, for too long.

_Don't worry… _her voice was steady, gentle, understanding, just about comprehendible in his ringing ears, _I'll find out the truth…_

The truth.

Yes, the truth. Too long without it – everyone needs to know. Everyone _would_ know; everyone would understand – he would make sure of that. He would make them suffer, make them understand – feel pain, hurt, grief – loss, so much loss.

They would understand. He had a plan, six years in the making. He couldn't stop now, wouldn't stop. Not now, not when everything was falling into place.

* * *

It was a week or so before school began again, and it was one of those lazy days where the five (however reluctant) friends could hang out, soak in the last of the sun. It was also the day where Stiles and Scott were supposed to be training to reach first string for the high school lacrosse team, although only Danny had seemed to be offering any kind of assistance. Not that it was surprising. Lydia was hardly a lacrosse player and Jackson, well, he was perfecting the tan he would need for the first day back.

Stiles swore sometimes that Jackson was just as bad as his girlfriend.

"So Laura's back in town?" Scott commented.

Stiles hummed, rearing his arm back to aim the lacrosse ball at the large net on the other side of the field. Danny, best goal keeper on the team, of course, caught it easily. "Yeah, I think she's visiting or something…"

"It's been six years and she's visiting now," Lydia arched a delicate eyebrow, "She hadn't even come down for the memorial service for _her_ family last year, but she visits _now_…"

"Hey, Derek and Laura are trying to get on with their lives," Stiles automatically defended, "They have jobs and new lives, away from the memories of this place, and I don't blame them for it."

"You're too forgiving Stilinski," Jackson complained, "If it were Danny who disappeared for six years, and then shows up as if nothing has happened, I'd be pretty pissed off."

"_Danny_ didn't lose his _entire_ family in a _fire_," Stiles shot back.

"Well, they weren't the only ones," Scott reminded his best friend, "I mean, you may not have realised it, but the Hale's were your family as well."

Scott was right, not that Stiles would ever tell him that. He had thought of the Hale's as part of his world, and when they'd died, so soon after his mama, well, it hurt. He'd felt the loss, maybe not as much as Laura and Derek had and, after they had left, there was only Scott and his father to help him through all the grief that surrounded him.

And Laura was back, but not for him and, yeah, that hurt a little, but he did understand. She didn't want to be back in Beacon Hills – not with so much of her parents and her brother and her aunts and uncles and cousins still imbedded in every street – but she knew she had to be, because this message – this spiral – it was important, it could be one of the last connects to her family she has and who wouldn't want to find out the truth behind it? As expected, Peter had been less than useless, still unmoving, still burnt, so Laura taken her search to the library, returning their every morning and leaving late at night, just to find one little indication of what it could mean. So far, she had found nothing, but she was determined. Same old Laura.

But still, Stiles couldn't shake this feeling that it was…a trap. It seemed silly, but every time she spoke about it, announcing that maybe she had found a clue, his stomach churned violently and made him want to up chuck – but not his dinner, but words. Warnings. He had become skilled in repressing it. Even now, the very thought of the symbol and Laura's hunt made him feel uneasy, like something was horribly wrong.

Stiles breathed out heavily and flopped onto the grass of the lacrosse field, his stick laid out beside him. "Can we talk about something else please?" he begged.

"Are we still on for Friday?" Danny wondered as he approached the small group, dropping down beside Jackson, "Thai food and movies?"

"Yup, my mum's got the late shift so my house is free for the night," Scott announced.

"And I've got the movie list sorted out," Lydia stated.

"If the Notebook is anywhere on that list, I'm going to gouge my eyes out," Jackson commented.

"We'll see," she responded airily, brushing off the comment in a way that told them that the Notebook was definitely going to be number one on the movie list.

Danny turned to Stiles and smiled warmly. "You should bring Laura. It would be nice to get to know her properly."

"I'll ask her," Stiles promised easily, offering him a thankful smile. Danny always seemed to know what to do or say to ease the tension in the room, and make everyone feel welcome. That was why everyone liked Danny.

* * *

"Okay, explain this to me again," Stiles requested, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, "Why are we driving to the preserve in the middle of the night?"

Laura sighed. "I told you, Jenny, Uncle Peter's nurse, gave me a note from him when I went to the home. He wants me to meet him where we used to run. He said that he can tell me about the sign, what it means."

"So we're driving to the woods in the middle of the night, to meet your Uncle, who, I would like to add, was unresponsive and unlikely to ever fully recover only two days ago, but now seems to have enough consciousness to go on a stroll?" Stiles summarized. He glanced at Laura ludicrously. "You can't tell me this doesn't sound like a trap to you."

"You didn't have to come," Laura shot back.

"One, you're car has broken down. And two, you want me to let you walk into this completely alone? Uh-huh, you need back-up and since I'm the only one in this town that knows about all your freaky werewolf stuff, it's got to be me."

Stiles drew the Jeep to a stop, the hum of the engine cutting off suddenly and plunging them into silence. He made to leave the vehicle, but was stopped by a hand on his arm, the tight grasp keeping him in place.

"You're not coming with me," she told him firmly.

"Huh? Did you miss my speech about you not going in alone?"

"Didn't you say it could be a trap?" Laura retorted, "If it is, I don't want you to get into the middle of it. I couldn't live with myself if you got yourself hurt because of me."

"What about you?"

She shrugged and offered him a smile that he guessed was supposed to strike confidence, but really didn't. "I'm the alpha. I'll be fine." She placed her hands together, as if praying, and gave him a pleading look, "Just please promise that you'll stay in the car Gem, for me?"

Reluctantly staying in place, Stiles watched from the metal casing of the car as Laura pulled her coat tighter to her body and began the trek through the trees. With every step she took, moving deeper and deeper into the preserve, disappearing behind the cluster of wildly grown trees in a way that almost made it look like she was being swallowed whole by the darkness, his wariness grew. It swelled in the pit of his stomach, tossing violently and flooding his mind with 'what ifs', until he couldn't obey Laura's request any longer.

Something was just there, shouting and begging for him to find her before something bad happened.

He followed the path easily. When he was a kid, after he had found out about the werewolves, Laura and James had spent a lot of time teaching him how to track through every inch of the Hale property; where he could hide if need be; what was safe to eat and, most importantly, the pack run route which lead to where the pack meets. It was a little cove, tucked between large canopies of trees, shielding it perfectly from outside view. It was secluded and quiet, in the middle of the Hale Pack property line, and that was where Laura was meeting Peter.

Stiles made sure to stay down wind, just in case Laura smelt him and circled back to stop him (she'd done that before, scolding him loudly and publicly for being so obvious, and he had learnt his lesson since). He kept his footfalls light, carefully avoiding fallen twigs on the soil and when he caught sight of Laura's silhouette highlighted by the moon in the distance, he jerked backwards, hanging behind for a moment before curbing around the trees, making sure to keep a reasonable space between them.

Peter was already standing in the valley, his back to both arrives. Stiles watched from his place, hidden behind the trunk of a tree, as Laura carefully approached, hands hidden in her jacket pockets. She said something, her lips moving noiselessly, and frustrated, he moved closer to get within hearing range.

And then he froze.

Peter had turned towards the sound of his niece's voice, head hanging almost as if from a noose, awkward and unnatural, his mouth wide open and gasping for breath. He was still burnt, scared, and his pain was clear in the sharp, jerked movements as he stumbled forward, towards her. The sympathy that welled up within Stiles was quickly quenched when he released a growl, something that was gurgled and broken but conveyed only danger. It made his gut clench in panic and Laura took half a step backwards. Not far enough.

Peter reared forward violently, knocking the smaller girl easily to the ground. He snarled and snapped his teeth threateningly. Despite his upper hand, Laura was the alpha. She was stronger and was quick to roll away, crouching into a defensive position, eyes flashing in warning.

Stiles could see when Peter shifted into his beta form and attacked. His blows were hard and fast and, even with his disability; Laura couldn't defend herself against all the scratches, sharp nails shredding her jacket like a knife through butter. But she gave as good as she got, snarling and grunting her exertion. She kicked with her leather boots, kneeing and elbowing, fracturing bones, whenever possible. Her knuckles were bruised and her claws bloodied from their meetings with her uncle's face, neck and chest, imbedding deeply into the skin.

"Stop it Uncle," Laura ordered, her voice deeper and more animalistic, powerful and dripping with authority as she threatening to let her wolf loose. It was a tone that Stiles had only ever heard once, from Amelia all those years ago. It made the hair rise up on the back of his neck.

"I don't want to hurt you," she continued.

But Peter didn't abide, shaking off the alpha's influence in a way that suggests he had done it before. He moved forward with determination in every step, and calculating behind every offense – like he had learnt all her moves, Stiles realised quickly.

His movements were less frenzied now, more controlled, precise. Laura couldn't keep up, couldn't stop all the blows. Her angry snarls of displeasure became whimpers of pain; become cries of anguish when claws imbedded deeply in the vulnerable skin of her belly.

Every pore in Stiles' body yelled at him, _begged him to help, to get help, anything that would stop the fight_ and save Laura from getting hurt anymore than she already was, that would save her life. The fact he didn't, the fact he stood there and let it happen, would haunt him for the years to come – his curse, his guilt, all well deserved.

But he honestly couldn't. He'd never seen werewolves fighting before, not like this. Not a real battle. He'd never seen the animalism reflected behind the strategic moves; the wolf's instinct to _scratch, bite, kill_ strengthened by the human's need to _hurt, mark, maim_. It was terrifying, and Stiles couldn't move. His legs were frozen in place, and all his senses were on full alert, making his ears ring, his head ache, his heart pound. He could hear the squelching noise of slicing flesh; see every pain filled expression that flittered across Laura's face before it fell away, a mask in place, as she prepared for her next defensive attack; smelling the metallic tang of blood, weeping heavily from open wounds. A scream welled up in his throat but his lips refused to open to let it passed – _don't want to get caught now, do you?_

So he stood there, scared, weak, _useless_, and could do nothing but watch, at the mercy of the voices in his head, as his nightmares came to life right in front of him.

Peter had her pinned, Laura barely able to struggle through her extensive injuries, and he growling warningly at her. Laura whimpered her submission – something that Laura would _never_ do – and went lax, accepting the dominant creature. God did Stiles wish she had kept fighting, wished _he_ could fight, because anything was better than what happened.

Peter locked his jaw around her neck, bearing down slightly, like he remembered Derek doing to state his dominance over Logan, before he bit down harshly. He howled his pleasure as he ripped a chunk of her neck, blooding pouring into the soil and torn flesh hanging in a grotesque fashion from Peter's extended canines. Laura's expression, caught in the moonlight, was a mixture of surprise and panic, pain and betrayal, before it flooded into nothingness, a blank state, her eyes glazed over, signifying the end, her death.

Stiles wasn't aware he was screaming until golden eyes, sharp, vicious and hungry, turned towards him.

He didn't need to turn around to know that Peter was following him. Every movement sliced through the wind; his breath was loud and panting, echoing through the trees, and the little growls he made, like a dog eager for the chase, only succeeded in making Stiles move faster, legs beginning to ache under the unexpected push of muscles.

Stiles fumbled for his phone in his pocket, cursing as his shaking fingers struggled with the buttons. _Got to call Dad_, he told himself. _He'll know what to do_, he assured himself. He stumbled over a misplaced rock, his foot caught, and he landed sprawled across the cold ground. He scrambled to his feet hurriedly and the heavy weight, something landing firmly on his back, knocked him back to the ground. He cried out his panic and fear, maybe hoping that someone could hear him; could come and rescue him. Large paws violently rolled him onto his back and Stiles buckled in a futile attempt to get loose.

Peter's face, no longer recognisable beneath the scars and the half shift of his beta form that seemed to be slowly becoming more animal-like, terrifying and monstrous, stared down at him. His breath was uneven, the stench of staled blood wafting across Stiles' face. It made him want to recoil, and he probably would have if he wasn't so scared, if the large paws weren't holding him down, claws digging to make sure he wouldn't leave. The glint in his eyes was of sick glee, one that perhaps what really made Stiles' feel sick – how can you be so happy about killing your own niece? Your own family?

There was a moment of pause, so silent it was as if the wind had stopped blowing, the wooding animals had stopped moving, as if they had stopped breathing – before Peter snarled darkly, lips curling back over sharp white teeth, and he reared forward suddenly, lunging on his prey.

The last thing Stiles' felt before he passed out was the absolute agony that jolted through his body when teeth broke the skin, the sound of his father's fearful begs for him to answer sounding in his ears from his abandoned phone.


End file.
